Hawaii
by annonwrite
Summary: Neal gets sick. Then he gets sicker. Sara is there for him the entire time, and neither of them are alone.


AN: More gratiuitous h/c. Almost 10,000 words of it. If you enjoy it for what it is and don't bother looking for the plot, you'll be good! I apologize in advance for any typos. Thank you for reading!

###

Sara paused at the door. There were butterflies in her stomach. Honest-to-God monarchs flapping their wings and flying her back in time to the days of middle-school crushes and newfound love. She smiled and rolled her eyes at her own ridiculousness. What was this man doing to her?

She knocked and waited for Neal to answer. They'd had lunch together this afternoon. They'd lingered over dessert, not wanting to leave the beautiful summer day or each other. She'd asked if they could do dinner. He said yes, but requested an add-on of after-work drinks. She agreed and spent the afternoon mostly failing to pay attention during meetings.

When Neal didn't open the door, she knocked again, louder this time. With a twinge of disappointment, she thought maybe he was still at work. Maybe something came up with a case. She was just starting to dig through her bag for her phone when the door opened.

"Hey," Neal said.

"Hey," she echoed, abandoning the bag search and leaning in to kiss him, but he pulled back. She froze. "What's wrong?"

He shook his head. "I'm sorry…I tried to call you…I'm not feeling so great."

It was only then that she noticed the blanket wrapped around his shoulders. The spots of color high on his cheeks. The too-bright quality of his crystal clear eyes. "Oh no," she said, disappointment turning to sympathy. "Are you okay?"

"I think so. But I'm going to have to reschedule our date."

"Don't worry about that. We can definitely reschedule when you're feeling better." She bit her lip. There were many things she knew about Neal – his favorite wine, the location of the sensitive spot on his neck just below his ear, how he took his coffee – but she had no clue how to interact with a sick Neal. No clue if he was the "suffer in silence" type who'd want her to leave so he could be alone, or the clingy type who'd want back rubs and chicken noodle soup. "So I should probably go…unless…you want me to stay?"

He tipped his head to the side a little, as if he wasn't sure what type of sick person he was, either. "I probably won't be very much fun."

"That's okay," she said quickly. "I can watch terrible TV while you sleep. And just be here if you need anything. So you don't have to be alone."

"That sounds nice." He stepped back to let her in.

She set her purse on the table. The TV was on, the sound low.

"Can I get you anything?" he asked. "A glass of wine?"

She smiled. Of course he'd be a good host even while sick. "Why don't you go get comfortable again? I'll help myself to some wine and get you…water? Juice?"

"I have water, but thanks." He shuffled over to the couch.

"Were you feeling okay at lunch?" she asked as she grabbed a wine glass and a bottle of merlot.

"Felt great until a couple of hours ago. Came on really fast. Peter sent me home."

She frowned as she finished pouring and put a stopper in the bottle. No illness that came on that quickly was anything good. Sounded like the flu. "Peter is a smart man." She carried the glass over to the couch, slipped off her heels, and sat on the part of the couch he'd left open for her. He was curled under the blanket at the other end, head resting on a pillow from his bed. "Doing okay? Need anything?"

The smile he gave her had about a third of its usual charm. "Just tired."

"Rest. I'll be here if you need anything."

"Thanks, Sara. For being here."

"You're welcome," she said, feeling glad she'd stayed.

Neal was asleep within minutes. Sara used the remote to flip through the channels until she landed on a hospital drama with guys who looked more like Neal than like actual doctors. She'd barely made it through an entire episode when she noticed Neal was starting to shiver. He curled up tighter in on himself without opening his eyes, but the shivers didn't stop.

Sara got up, put her empty glass in the sink, and headed to Neal's bed. There was an extra blanket draped across a chair, probably not needed during these summer months. She carried it to the couch and spread it over Neal.

His blue eyes opened. "Thanks."

"Chills?"

He nodded.

As she tucked the blankets around his shoulders, she could feel the heat coming off him. Though she'd probably touched every inch of his skin since their first kiss, it still felt intimate when she smoothed her palm over his forehead. "You're really hot," she said, and knew he definitely wasn't feeling well when he didn't comment on the double meaning of the word. "Do you have a thermometer?"

He shook his head once.

She brought the back of her hand down to his cheek, and he leaned in to the touch. "Do you think June might?"

"Maybe."

She patted his chest. "I'll go ask her. Sit tight."

Sara quietly left the apartment and padded down the flights of stairs. She'd met June once before. It was sweet how she treated Neal – like a member of her family rather than just a resident of her house.

Currently, June was sitting at the end of a long table, a newspaper spread out in front of her, tinny jazz playing in the background and a glass of wine in her hand. She looked up and smiled when Sara entered the room. "Hello, dear. It's nice to see you again."

"You too, June. I'm sorry to bother you, but do you happen to have a thermometer?"

June frowned. "Is Neal not well?"

"Unfortunately not. He's really warm, and I don't know how worried I should be."

June stood and led Sara down a hall to a bathroom. She opened the medicine cabinet and handed her a small plastic case with a thermometer inside. "Does he have acetaminophen?"

It was a question Sara should have thought to ask. "Probably not."

The older woman handed her a bottle of that as well. "What about tea? Soup?"

"I'm not sure if he has either, but he has chills right now, so either would probably be greatly appreciated."

June smiled and patted her hand. "I'll bring some up."

"Thank you. For all of this."

"Of course, dear. I'll be up shortly."

Sara climbed the stairs. Neal was in the exact position she'd left him in. She sat on the edge of the couch, near his hip, and removed the thermometer from the case.

"Under your tongue," she said, and he obeyed. She ran her fingers through his soft curls, trying not to worry about the abnormal heat radiating from his scalp. He shivered under her touch. "June's going to bring you some tea and soup."

The thermometer beeped, shrill and fast, and Sara took it from him. "103.2. Not good, Caffrey. Have you taken any Tylenol?"

He shook his head. "Don't have any."

She rattled the bottle. "June to the rescue again. Sit up a little."

He sat up on one shaky elbow, and she poured two pills into his hand. He swallowed them down with a sip of water.

"Drink some more of that if you can."

He emptied the glass and collapsed back onto the pillow, burrowing under the blankets and into the heat he'd lost. "Thank you."

She smiled and tucked the blankets around his shoulders. She refilled the glass at the sink. When she returned, she expected him to be asleep, but his eyes were open and slowly tracking her movements. She returned the glass to the coaster and sat back in her spot. He tucked his feet under her leg a little, probably seeking out more heat, and she let him. "Does your throat hurt?"

He shook his head.

"Stomach?"

Another headshake. "Just a headache."

"The Tylenol should help that, too."

They lapsed into comfortable silence for a few minutes, broken only by the television and an occasional shiver.

"Sara?"

"Yeah?"

"What are we watching?"

She laughed. "Hey, don't mock. You were asleep and I told you I was going to watch terrible TV." Thankfully, a knock on the door saved her. "That's probably June."

When she got to the door, June was on the other side with a tray in her hands. "Oh, here. Let me take that," Sara said, doing her best not to jostle the mugs and bowls.

"Thank you, dear. How's our patient?"

"His fever is over 103," Sara said, following June toward the couch. She set the tray on the coffee table.

"Hey, June," Neal said, attempting to sit up, but lacking his usual strength and grace.

"Neal. So sorry you're under the weather." She adjusted his pillow to help him stay upright and handed him the cup of tea from the tray Sara had placed it on the table. "Chamomile with a bit of honey. Should help with your chills."

"Thank you," Neal said, wrapping long fingers around the mug and holding it close so his chest.

"If you can manage that, there's some soup here." She nodded to Sara. "There's a bowl for you, too. I thought your dinner plans for the evening might have been interrupted."

Sara smiled. "That's very kind. It smells delicious. Thank you."

June smoothed a hand over Neal's forehead. "Poor dear. If you need anything, you don't hesitate to let me know, okay?"

Neal took a sip of the tea. "This is more than enough. You're too good to me."

"Not possible." She brushed her fingers through his messy hair and said, "I'll leave you two to your meal."

Sara walked June to the door. "I'll bring the tray to the kitchen once we're done."

"Perfect. I'll leave the extra tea bags and honey on the counter if he wants more. Will you be staying the night?"

She glanced over at Neal. Even though June would be in the house, so he wouldn't technically be alone, she couldn't imagine leaving him like this. "Probably, yes."

June nodded her approval. "Take good care of our boy."

Sara smiled. "I will."

Once June left, Sara returned to the couch, where Neal was staring blankly at the television. His eyelids looked heavy.

"How's the tea?" she asked, returning to her seat and tucking her feet up under her.

"Warm," he said. The shivers seemed to have let up.

"Good. Want to try some soup?"

His gaze shifted to the bowl. "I'm not very hungry."

She could read the exhaustion behind the words, so she took the nearly empty mug from him, placed it back on the tray, and picked up one of the bowls. She stirred it, blew on a spoonful until it cooled, and then held it out in Neal's direction.

"You're feeding me?" he asked. "Sexy."

She smiled, happy to hear that the old Neal was still somewhere behind the layers of fever and illness. "Yes, Caffrey, you're the epitome of sexiness. Especially right now. Eat the soup."

After she fed him a few bites, he took the bowl and spoon from her so she could eat. By the time her bowl was empty, his was almost halfway gone, and tilting dangerously to the side as his eyes drooped. She pulled the bowl from his fingers, and he startled awake.

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"Don't be. Sleep is what you need. Do you want to go to bed? Or lie down here?"

"Here."

Instead of letting him curl back up on the opposite end of the couch, she grabbed his pillow, placed it in her lap, and patted it. He put his head on the pillow and stretched out on his side. She tucked the blankets around him. When she brushed his slightly sweaty hair back from his forehead, she was pleased that his skin felt a little cooler than before. The Tylenol was helping.

"Comfortable?" she asked.

He nodded.

"Good." She stroked her fingertips lightly up and down his arm. This wasn't the evening either one of them planned, but as he tucked his hands up under the pillow, too-warm fingers wrapping loosely in the fabric of her dress like it was a grown-up security blanket, she realized it wasn't so bad.

He was sound asleep within seconds.

###

Sara woke with a stiff neck and the feeling that she wasn't where she was supposed to be. Neal's place, she realized when she opened her eyes. But not the bed. The couch. When she'd fallen asleep, his head had still been in her lap, but now he was sitting up, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

"Hey," she said softly, setting the pillow aside. "You okay?"

In the blue light cast by the TV, she saw him nod once. "Have to go to the bathroom."

He wouldn't still be sitting there if he didn't need help, or a little encouragement at the very least, so she slipped her arm around his back and gently pulled him to his feet. He draped one arm over her shoulders. The amount of warmth radiating from his side to hers was far too high.

"How are you feeling?" she asked.

His sigh was as heavy as his steps. "Not so great."

"Probably time for more Tylenol."

He hummed in affirmation. "I got it from here," he said when they reached the bathroom.

While she waited, Sara refilled his water glass and relocated it, the thermometer, and the bottle of Tylenol to his bedside table. She turned on the lamp and was pulling back the covers when the bathroom door opened. He headed over to her.

"Sit," she said, patting the edge of the mattress. "Before you lie down and get too comfortable, you need more Tylenol and water."

He sat, and she sat next to him. She turned on the thermometer and handed it over. While they waited for it to beep, he slouched to the side and rested his head on her shoulder. His fever felt hotter there in the crook of her neck, and she took his hand in hers, as if she could draw the heat out from his fingertips.

"103.7," she read when the thermometer finished its reading. She gave him two more Tylenol and encouraged him to keep sipping at the water. "What hurts?"

He took another sip. "Head. And I'm kind of achy all over."

Definitely sounded like the flu. As if on cue, the air conditioning kicked on, causing him to shiver. She took the water glass from him and helped him lie down, pulling the blankets up to his chin. She ran her fingers through his hair, and he looked up at her with red-rimmed eyes.

"It's late," he said.

"I know."

"Sara?"

"Yeah?"

He shivered again. "Stay?"

She kissed his too-warm forehead. "Okay."

She changed into a pair of his pajama pants and an undershirt, washed up, and brushed her teeth. When she got back to the bed, his eyes were closed. She turned off the lamp and crawled into bed next to him.

This would normally be the part where he'd slip his hand under her shirt, trace a path down her neck with his lips, dig his fingers into her hair. But for tonight, he just rolled toward her, pressed his forehead against her collarbone, and linked his pinky in hers. It was nice in a completely different way.

"You good?" she whispered. She felt the nod against her arm. "Sleep well."

###

She slept lightly, concern for Neal keeping her from the deepest levels of sleep. He cooled off some and slept soundly for a few hours, but when she woke before four, he was moaning and shifting restlessly, burning even hotter than before.

"Neal," she said, turning on the lamp. The feverish flush to his cheeks was almost fluorescent. With slightly shaky hands, she removed the thermometer from the case. "Open up. I need to take your temperature."

He just moaned in response and thrashed his head from one side of the pillow to the other.

"Hey," she said gently, but louder than before. She ran a hand through his sweaty hair, wincing at the heat. "Neal. Wake up. Open your eyes."

He moaned again, but obeyed, blinking hard in the light before closing them again. "Kate?"

Delirium or hope? She feared the first and dreaded the latter. "Open your eyes, Neal. Come on."

He did, blue eyes taking entirely too long to focus on her. "Sara," he breathed. "Sorry."

She smiled a sad smile and squeezed his shoulder. "It's okay." She held up the thermometer. "You know the drill. Under your tongue."

He opened his mouth and let her slip the metal tip into place. He closed his eyes while they waited, shivering every once in a while.

"Damn," she said when the thermometer beeped. 104.2.

"My head hurts," he said.

She bit back the "because you're trying to fry your brain" comment that wanted to roll off her tongue, more out of panic than anything. It was too early for more Tylenol, not quite four hours since the last dose, but she was willing to round up. "Here, sit up," she said, tucking a few pillows behind his back. She gave him two more pills and the glass of water. "Drink all of that. I'll be right back."

In the bathroom, she grabbed a washcloth and ran it under room temperature water from the tap. When she got back to the bed, the water wasn't gone. "Drink, Caffrey," she said. "It will help."

He just blinked up at her like she was speaking a foreign language he couldn't translate, so she lifted the glass to his lips. He swallowed once automatically, then gripped the glass and drank the rest down in quick gulps she hoped they wouldn't regret.

"Easy, easy," she said, but at least the glass was empty. She set it on the table and pressed the washcloth to his forehead. He moaned and leaned into her touch. "Does that feel good?"

"Yeah," he said softly.

The cloth warmed quickly, so she flipped it over before pressing it to his cheeks and the back of his neck. When there weren't any cool spots left, she went to the kitchen and filled a bowl with water. At his bedside, she rinsed the cloth in the bowl and continued to sponge off his feverish skin. When twenty minutes passed and his stomach seemed okay with the water, she refilled his glass and helped him drink more. Another twenty minutes after that, she checked his temperature again. 103.3. She wasn't going to have to haul him to the emergency room, but a trip to the doctor was definitely in order.

Despite the little sleep she'd gotten, she was too worried to be tired, so she continued her ministrations while he dozed.

At 6:30, the sun was up, and Sara assumed Peter would be as well. She used Neal's cell phone to call him.

"Let me guess," Peter said when he picked up on the third ring, "you're going to be out sick today."

"Peter, it's Sara."

The tone of Peter's voice changed to one of concern. "Sara? Is Neal okay?"

"Not really. He keeps spiking a fever. I think he needs to see a doctor, but I wasn't sure about his radius, or where he should go. Does he have a doctor? Does he even have insurance? Because I know prisoners get medical care, but I wasn't sure since he's a CI if—"

"Sara," Peter said, interrupting her worried ramble. "Does he need to be in the emergency room?"

"No. I don't think so. He's okay now, but he scared me this morning, and I'm worried about if his fever goes above 104 again and I can't get it down."

"Okay. I'm going to come over. We'll take Neal to an urgent care clinic. Get him all taken care of. You let me worry about his radius and insurance, okay?"

Having a plan was enough to let Sara breathe a little easier. "Thank you."

"See you soon, Sara."

###

"You okay?"

Sara forced a smile in Peter's direction. "Just worried."

Once they got Neal to urgent care and Peter had filled out his paperwork, Neal had stayed awake long enough to answer the doctor's questions and submit to her exam, but fell asleep the second she was gone. He'd even slept through the phlebotomist drawing blood from his arm.

"He'll be okay," Peter said. "They'll give him some medicine, and he'll be back on his feet in no time."

She bit her lip. "He called me Kate."

Peter studied her for a second before nodding. "With a fever that high, he was probably delirious."

"That doesn't make me worry any less."

Their conversation was interrupted by the return of Neal's doctor. The woman smiled at her sound-asleep patient who was using Peter's suit jacket as a temporary blanket, and turned to the two of them. "Well, his flu test came back negative," she said. "But so did all of the other tests like mono and strep."

"So what now?" Peter asked.

"Given his symptoms, I do still think it's the flu. Probably a strain that we aren't catching with our test. I'd like to treat him with Tamiflu. He'll have to ride this out, but that should reduce and shorten his symptoms." She handed Sara a prescription. "He should take that with food. Since his fever's been spiking so high, I'd also alternate acetaminophen and ibuprofen every two to three hours. The dosages and directions are here in his discharge paperwork." She handed that over as well. "Make sure he drinks plenty of fluids to prevent dehydration. Any questions?"

"At what point is a fever high enough to need a trip to the hospital?" Sara asked.

"If it's above 104 and you can't get it to go down or if you can't wake him, you should go to the ER."

"Thank you, Doctor," Peter said.

The woman smiled again. "You're welcome. Take care."

Once they were alone, Sara said, "Just the flu. That's a relief."

"He's going to be just fine." Peter patted Sara's arm before nudging his CI's shoulder. "Up and at 'em, Caffrey. Time to go." He tried to take his jacket back, but Neal just groaned and clutched it to his chest. Peter laughed. "Fine, you can keep the jacket, but you still have to get up."

Neal blinked a few times and sat up slowly. "Am I dying?" he asked.

Sara smiled and smoothed some of his hair that was standing on end. "It's the flu. You'll live." She helped him down off the narrow examination table and draped Peter's jacket over his shoulders. It dwarfed him a bit, like a kid playing dress-up in his dad's closet.

"I'll pull the car up in front," Peter said.

Sara wrapped an arm around Neal's waist, partly to steady him, partly to stop his shivers, and partly to keep him moving in the direction of the front door. "Doing okay?" she asked when they were about half way there.

He nodded once. "About earlier…I didn't mean to call you Kate. I just…forgot for a minute." There were layers of embarrassment and guilt covering a core of pain and loss.

She wrapped her arm a little tighter around him. "Don't worry about it. You were half-asleep and out of it from the fever. I was just worried about you."

"Sorry."

"Hey. No apology needed. Let's just get you home and in bed with medication so you can feel better."

"Better sounds awesome."

Sara had to agree.

They swung by the pharmacy on the way back to June's. It was a good thing Peter stuck around to help Neal up the stairs, because he wanted to take a nap after one flight, and Peter ended up practically carrying him the rest of the way.

They sat him at the kitchen table to feed him yogurt along with his pills and water because they all knew the second he hit a horizontal surface like the couch or the bed, he'd be down for the count.

By the time he'd eaten almost all of the yogurt and half of a banana, he was falling asleep sitting up. Sara put a spoonful of yogurt up to his lips and got zero response.

"Caffrey," she said.

"Hm?" he asked without opening his eyes.

"Can you finish eating this?"

"No."

Peter shrugged in Sara's direction. "At least he's honest." To Neal, he said, "Up and at 'em."

While Peter helped his CI to his feet, Sara cleaned up his meager breakfast.

"Bed's over there," Neal grumbled.

"Bathroom first. You'll thank me later."

"Won't thank you right now."

"Ooo, someone's feisty when he's sick."

Sara smiled at their banter while she straightened Neal's pillows and blankets. A couple of minutes later, Neal made his way to the bed, shivering slightly but mostly walking under his own steam. He crawled into bed, and she tucked the blankets tightly around him.

"I think someone should stay with him today," Peter said.

"'M fine," Neal protested.

"You don't get a vote. Go to sleep."

Sara did a quick mental check of her calendar. She didn't have any meetings, just work that would still be there the next day. "I'll stay," Sara said.

Peter raised an eyebrow. "Don't you have work?"

"Just because I don't use personal days doesn't mean I don't get them. I'll take one today." It actually sounded kind of nice, lounging with Neal, keeping an eye on him, maybe catching up on some of the sleep she missed the night before.

"You're sure?"

"Positive. You, on the other hand, are already late for work and should probably get going."

Peter checked his watch and nodded. "Feel better, Caffrey. And behave."

"Always do," he said, but his eyes were closed so he couldn't see Peter's eye roll.

Sara walked Peter to the door. "Thank you for all of your help today."

"You're welcome. Let me know if you two need anything."

She thanked him again and closed the door. When she returned to Neal's bed, she was surprised to see that his eyes were still open. "Why aren't you sleeping?"

"Too cold to sleep."

She crawled under the covers next to him. He rolled to face her and snuggled in with as many points of contact as he could manage.

"You're not cold. You're a furnace. Ibuprofen should kick in soon."

"Hawaii," Neal murmured against her collarbone.

She frowned. Naming random states ranked pretty high on her "How Delirious is Neal?" meter.

Before she could respond, he said, "That's where you should go on your personal days. Not here. Hawaii. Where it's warm and beautiful and smells like plumeria."

She smiled and let her concern drop. "Plumeria, huh? Sounds nice. The only problem is, I wouldn't want to go alone."

"I'll go with you."

"Yeah? One tiny problem with that." She used her foot to nudge at his anklet.

"Once it's off. Hawaii."

Fever or not, it made her happy to hear him talking about them long-term. "Can't wait."

"Or Spain. Or Brazil." The spaces between his words were growing longer and heavier. "Canary Islands. Sydney." He yawned. "Anywhere warm."

She kissed his forehead. "Travel later. Sleep now."

And he did. She set an alarm for two hours later to give him more medicine, and fell asleep to dream about tropical flowers blowing in the breeze along warm, sandy beaches.

###

It turned out alternating acetaminophen and ibuprofen was exactly what Neal needed. It kept his fever closer to 100 than 104 and eased his headache and muscle aches.

He slept on and off most of the day, drank endless mugs of herbal tea, and didn't complain about Sara's television choices. June brought them dinner of egg drop soup, almond chicken, and vegetable fried rice. Though Neal's appetite was far from normal, he picked at all three to make June happy.

By the time they were alone and the sky teetered over the edge between day and night, Neal seemed to be turning the corner. His temperature was below 100, his eyes were clear and focused, and he was smiling. Maybe the Tamiflu was kicking in, too.

They didn't discuss whether or not she would stay the night again, which was good because there wasn't a discussion to be had. Despite the improvement, she was staying.

She woke in the middle of the night not to Neal's alarm, to Neal himself, tossing and turning on the mattress next to her.

"What's wrong?" she asked, words slurred with sleep.

"Nothing. Sorry."

She tugged her hand out from the blankets and pressed it to his forehead. Warm, but not alarmingly so. She checked the clock. Not time for medicine yet. She let herself doze, thinking he would fall back to sleep, but he didn't, continuing to shift restlessly. She rubbed her eyes and forced herself back to wakefulness.

"Can't sleep?"

He sighed. "No."

"Need anything?"

"No. Might go watch TV for a while."

She ran her fingers through his hair. It was slightly damp with feverish sweat. So was his shirt. That couldn't be comfortable. "Hey, do you think you have enough energy for a shower?" Maybe the combination of clean skin, fresh pajamas and sheets, and exhaustion from the effort of taking a shower would be enough to get him back to sleep.

He gave a soft moan. "That sounds amazing."

She smiled in the darkness and slipped out of bed. "Stay here while I warm up the water."

She felt her way to the bathroom and turned on the light, blinking at its intensity. She started the shower and gathered a few towels. When she turned, Neal was there, leaning against the doorjamb.

"Hey, I told you to stay in bed," she said.

"Couldn't wait. Are you going to join me?"

She was, so that she could help him wash his hair and keep him from falling over, but he didn't need to know that. He could think whatever he wanted to think, which, despite the flu, was probably dirty. "Yes."

He smiled and slipped his undershirt off over her head. Soon their clothes were in piles on the floor. Sara checked the water with her wrist, making sure it wasn't too cold or too hot to affect Neal's temperature. Then she nudged him in and followed right behind.

He stood under the spray, letting the water rinse the sweat and layer of illness from his hair and body. "Oh God, that feels incredible," he said.

She laughed. "You are easy to please tonight."

With a smile, he opened his eyes and pulled her close so they were both under the spray. He titled her chin up and pushed wet hair back from her face. Then he started kissing down her jaw and neck.

"Easy, Flu Boy," she said. "I don't want to catch whatever plague you have."

"You've already been exposed." He kissed the hollow at the base of her throat. "Besides, germs are non-existent in the shower."

When his mouth went lower, she wasn't sure she'd be able to disagree with him, but then he shivered a little, and she remembered what they were here for.

"Hey," she said, pulling back both to get him to slow down and to adjust the faucet to make the water warmer, "let's make a deal. We'll get you all cleaned up, and if you still want to do that after, you can. Okay?"

He sighed. "Fine."

"Just the enthusiastic response I was looking for." The shampoo he used smelled like mango. She put a decent amount in her palm, lathered up, and started washing his hair. She massaged his scalp as she went and he moaned again, leaning in to the couch.

"Good?" she asked.

"Mmhmm."

She leaned him back and let the water rinse the suds from his hair, using her fingers to help it along.

"Doing okay?"

"Great."

He already sounded more tired than he had a minute ago. When he swayed a little on his feet, she knew they were running out of time. Conditioner was necessary for a guy with hair as thick and wavy as his, so she quickly worked little of that through as well.

While the conditioner did its job, she used body wash to lather up a washcloth. She started with his back and worked her way around and down. He was leaning on her more, but less in an "I want to have sex" way than an "I'm too tired to stand upright on my own two feet" way.

"Almost done," she said.

He stifled a yawn and said, "Good."

She rinsed his body, but when she went to rinse his hair one last time, he had shifted so he was leaning against the wall, shivering. "Come here, Caffrey," she said, pulling him forward under the water.

He kept one hand braced on the wall and leaned his head on her shoulder, but let her rinse his hair.

"Okay," she said when she was finished. "All done. Now what was it that you wanted to do to me?"

"Mean," he mumbled into her shoulder. "You knew I'd be too tired to…"

"To finish your sentences? Yeah. I did know that." She kissed the top of his head, shut off the water, and reached out for two towels.

She dried him as quickly as possible and wrapped them both in towels. She helped him back to the bedroom, eased him into a chair, and tossed a clean pair of pajamas in his lap.

"Can you put those on? I want to change the sheets."

"Yeah," he mumbled, half asleep, but didn't make any effort with the pajamas in his lap.

Sara rolled her eyes and stripped off the bedding, tossing it in the corner of the room to be dealt with in the morning. She quickly replaced the sheets and pillowcases, helped Neal into the pajamas, and towel dried his hair one more time. She had him drink a few sips of water before lying down, then let him slip between the sheets.

"Feels so good," he said, words heavy and thick.

"I'm glad. Sleep well, Caffrey." She grabbed another pair of pajama pants and an undershirt for herself. She was on her way to the bathroom to change out of the towel and run a comb through her wet hair when he spoke again.

"Sara?"

She'd thought he was already asleep. "Yeah?"

"I love you."

She turned, expecting to see him at least half out of it, but his blue eyes were open and focused on her. Something deep inside her melted and broke and was put back together all at the same time. She walked over and kissed him, flu germs be damned. "I love you, too."

He fell asleep with the corners of his mouth still turned up in a smile.

###

"How's the patient?" Peter asked.

Sara trapped Neal's phone between her shoulder and her ear so she could lift the whistling kettle off the burner. "His fever's at 101 right now, but it was lower last night. Still much better than yesterday morning."

"Good. I already got him another day off. What about you? Do you need someone to stay with him so you can go to work?"

She hesitated as she thought about the sheer number of e-mails she'd have to return after being out of the office one day, let alone two. She poured boiling water into the mug with the tea bag and said, "Yeah. Maybe I'll see if June can keep an eye on him for a few hours…"

"Don't bother," Peter said. "El made some soup to drop off and said she could work from his place for the day if needed. She'll be over soon."

Sara swirled the tea bag around, watching the water darken. "That would be great. Thank you, Peter."

They said goodbye, and Sara replaced the tea bag with a liberal amount of honey before walking over to the couch.

"That was Peter, checking up on you. You have the day off."

"Thanks," he said, wincing as he leaned forward to accept the mug. With the increased temperature, his muscle aches also seemed to be back.

"Elizabeth's going to come hang out here so I can run home and change and head into the office for a few hours. Is that okay?"

Neal frowned at her. "I don't need a babysitter."

"I know you don't. But it will make me feel better to know you're not alone. Okay?"

The expression on his face made it pretty clear that he wanted to argue, but couldn't find the energy. Sara took it as acceptance. Then she noticed that both the water glass and two slices of toast she'd set him up with were both untouched.

"You need to eat and drink so you can take more Tamiflu."

His nose wrinkled. "I'm still waking up. Give me a minute."

Now it was her turn to frown. "Is your stomach upset?"

"I'm just not hungry yet, okay?" he snapped.

And okay, fine, he wasn't feeling well and she was essentially taking away his independence while also nagging him to eat. He was allowed to be a little cranky. She pulled his blanket over his foot where it had slipped off, patted his shin, and went to clean up a bit.

There was a knock on the door not too much later. Sara opened it to see Elizabeth with her laptop bag slung over one shoulder and a covered pot of chicken noodle soup in her hands.

"Good morning," Elizabeth said brightly.

"Good morning," Sara echoed. She took the pot off Elizabeth's hands. "This smells amazing."

"It can go in the fridge for now. I'll heat it up later." She set her laptop bag on the table and looked over to Neal on the couch. "Still sick, huh?"

Sara nodded. "And a little cranky about having a babysitter. Sorry."

Elizabeth smiled. "Sounds like my husband. Nothing I can't handle. What will he need while you're gone?"

"I made him toast and tea, but he hasn't touched it yet. He needs to eat something so he can take Tamiflu, which is on the table." She checked the clock. "He'll need Tylenol in about two hours, and Advil three hours after that."

"Got it." Elizabeth walked over to the couch and perched on the edge of the coffee table. "Hey, sweetie. How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine," he said, definitely still a little pouty.

Sara rolled her eyes at Elizabeth, who had to stifle a laugh.

"I'm going to head out," Sara said. "I'll have my cell on if you need anything. Be nice to Elizabeth."

"I'm always nice," he said, tone suggesting anything but.

Sara sighed and bent down to kiss his forehead. "Love you," she said.

He wrapped his fingers around her wrist to keep her there so he could sneak in one more kiss. "Love you, too."

"Behave."

"Promise."

"Have a good day at work," Elizabeth said. "Don't worry about us, and take your time coming back. We'll be just fine."

Sara thanked Elizabeth again, gathered her belongings, and headed home.

It took her less than an hour to shower, dress, and pack a bag so she could head back to June's house straight from work. Back in the office, a few of her co-workers gave her a hard time about the day off she'd taken, but they were teasing more than anything.

Her e-mail inbox sucked her in, but she kept glancing at the clock, wondering how Neal was doing. After the tenth glance in about as many minutes, she grabbed her phone and typed out a text message to Elizabeth.

Sara: _How's he doing? Behaving?_

Thankfully, the response came through quickly.

Elizabeth: _He's doing fine. Didn't want the toast, but he's eating some soup right now. Took the Tamiflu. I think he's behaving better for me than for you._

She smiled and typed out a response.

Sara: _Glad to hear. Thank you again._

With her mind at ease, she dove back into work. She was completely in the zone half an hour later when another text message came through.

Elizabeth: _The soup and medicine didn't go down very well. He threw up. We'll try again in a little while._

That wasn't good. While his appetite had been down the past two days, he definitely hadn't been sick to his stomach.

Sara: _Oh no. Want me to come back?_

Elizabeth: _No, we're fine. Just wanted to keep you posted._

Sara: _Thank you! Let me know if he gets worse._

Thankfully, Sara had a couple of meetings that required her attention and prevented her from worrying about Neal non-stop. She kept her phone in her hands at all times, though. When it started vibrating at one point after lunch she jumped. Elizabeth's name was on the screen. She quietly excused herself from the meeting and stepped into the hall.

"Elizabeth? What's wrong?"

"Hey, Sara. Are you busy?"

"No," she lied. "What's going on?"

"I just wanted to update you. Neal's having a hard time keeping anything down, including Tylenol or Advil, so his fever is back up to 103.4."

Sara's heart sank to somewhere in her stomach. "Oh no."

"He's okay, considering, but you said to let you know if he gets worse…"

"And he's worse. Right. Thank you. I think I'm going to come back." There would be no way she'd be able to concentrate after this. She'd handled the most pressing of the e-mails and attended the most important of the meetings. The rest could wait.

She hung up with Elizabeth, packed up some work that she probably wouldn't touch, and slipped out, alerting as few of her colleagues as possible.

When she got to Neal's, both the bed and the couch were empty, but the bathroom light was on. Neal and Elizabeth were seated on the ground up against the wall. Neal was covered in a blanket, and appeared to be asleep with his head on her shoulder. The feverish flush to his cheeks was back in full force along with occasional shivers.

"Hey," Elizabeth said softly. "How was work?"

"It was fine, thanks. How's he doing?"

"He hasn't thrown up in about half an hour. We can probably get him back to bed."

Sara nodded and squeezed Neal's shoulder, but he didn't stir. "Hey. Neal. Wake up."

He just moaned and huddled in closer to Elizabeth. Elizabeth used the contact to slip one arm under his shoulder. Sara removed the blanket and took her position under his other arm. They hauled him to his feet, which he was thankfully able to get underneath him, even if he was unsteady.

"Sara?" he asked, voice rough.

"Right here. Come on, let's get you to bed."

"Probably should check his temperature again," Elizabeth said.

Sara nodded as they eased him down onto the mattress. He curled up on his side and shivered hard. His unfocused blue eyes landed on her. She sat on the edge of the bed, smiled at him, and stroked his cheek.

"Not doing so well, huh?"

"Head hurts."

She smoothed her palm over his too-hot forehead, wishing she could take the pain and heat away with her touch. "I bet it does. Sorry." She turned on the thermometer and slipped it under his tongue.

Elizabeth brought over a bowl filled with water, a washcloth, and a garbage can. She folded the wet washcloth and placed it on his forehead.

"Thanks," Sara said. The thermometer beeped. "103.9."

"We need to get some Tylenol to stay down," Elizabeth said.

"I picked up a bottle of ginger ale. It's on the table."

"Got it," Elizabeth said.

While Elizabeth got him a glass of ginger ale, Sara helped Neal sit up against the pillows and flipped the washcloth to the cool side. Elizabeth returned and held the glass up to his lips. He shook his head, dislodging the washcloth, and kept his lips firmly closed, which was probably fair given the day he'd had so far.

"It's ginger ale," Elizabeth said. "It will help settle your stomach."

Neal studied her with uncertain, hazy eyes before sighing and parting his lips.

"A tiny sip." Elizabeth helped him take just that, and then set the glass on the table. "Let's see how that goes down."

"Tastes good," he said.

Sara smiled. Soda wasn't something Neal had very often. Water, coffee, and wine were his drinks of choice, and he rarely strayed from them. She rinsed out the washcloth and placed it back on his forehead.

Elizabeth sat in an extra chair and filled the silence with chatter about what she and Neal had watched on morning television and questions about Sara's morning at work. Sara probably should have told her it was okay to leave, but she was worried about Neal and this turn he'd taken, and it was nice to not be alone with her worry. Elizabeth probably knew that, too.

They got a few more successful sips of ginger ale into him before trying some Tylenol. It had been just long enough that Sara was starting to think it was going to stay down when he moaned and clutched his stomach.

"You're okay," Sara said, rubbing his arm. "Just breathe." But his face paled enough that she grabbed the garbage can.

"Try to relax," Elizabeth said. She had gotten up from her chair, and pressed the washcloth to the back of his neck.

But a few seconds later, he was gripping at the garbage can, coughing and gagging and bringing up the meager contents of his stomach.

Sara murmured assurances and rubbed his back and tried not to panic.

"Hey, Sara?" Elizabeth asked.

"Yeah?"

"What do you think this is?" She pointed to Neal's hands where he was holding the garbage can. There were reddish-pink spots around his wrists.

Neal leaned back against the pillows and let Elizabeth remove the garbage can. Sara picked up one wrist and then the other.

"Does this itch?" she asked him.

He shook his head, looking miserable.

"Is it anywhere else?" Elizabeth asked. They checked the rest of his arms, chest, and back, which were all clear. When they got to his legs, however, they found more spots on his ankles. "An allergic reaction?"

She pulled the blankets back over him. "I'm going to call the doctor's office."

"Good idea," Elizabeth said.

Sara located the doctor's phone number on Neal's discharge paperwork and explained Neal's symptoms – the rash, vomiting, and increased fever – to a nurse, who put her on hold for a long time. Sara paced the length of the apartment while she waited. Finally, the doctor came on the line, and explained that Neal was probably having a mild allergic reaction to the Tamiflu. They were to discontinue that and give him a dose of Benadryl, which would take care of the rash and nausea, so that he could take Tylenol for the fever. Of course, they were to go directly to the ER if he didn't improve or got worse.

When she hung up the phone, she relayed the information to Elizabeth, who had taken her spot on the edge of the bed. "Do you think June has Benadryl?" Sara asked.

Elizabeth grabbed her phone and started typing. "Don't know. She came up earlier to check on Neal and was headed out for the day. But I called Peter to come take the anklet off. It's rubbing on that rash. I'll have him pick up some Benadryl on the way."

Sara never would have thought about the anklet. "Thank you."

Elizabeth sent the text and squeezed Sara's shoulder. "He's going to be okay."

Sara forced a smile and tried to believe her.

###

"Shouldn't this be getting better instead of worse?" Sara asked.

The first order of business when Peter arrived had been removing the anklet. The second had been giving Neal a dose of Benadryl with some tea, which thankfully seemed to be staying down. But instead of disappearing, the rash was spreading up his arms and legs. There were a few spots popping up on his torso.

"Maybe the Benadryl needs a little more time to work," Elizabeth offered.

"I don't know, hon. I think Sara's right," Peter said. "I don't like it. Hospital?" he asked.

Sara swallowed hard and nodded. "I think so."

Neal was out of it from a combination of the fever and Benadryl, so Peter ended up taking most of his weight as they walked down the stairs and out to his car. Sara sat in the backseat with Neal's head in her lap, stroking his hair and praying to anyone that would listen that he would come out on the other side of this just fine.

When they got to the ER, the combination of Peter's badge, Neal's semi-conscious state, and the words "allergic reaction" got Neal taken back to a room pretty quickly. There were only two chairs, so Peter and Elizabeth sat while Sara paced.

When the doctor came in, he asked about a thousand questions and frowned his way through Neal's examination.

"I don't think it's an allergic reaction," he said as he placed his stethoscope back around his neck. "And I'm also not convinced that it started with the flu."

"What do you think it is?" Sara asked.

"Not sure yet. I want to run some tests. Has he traveled at all in the past few weeks?"

Peter chucked. "He doesn't leave a two-mile radius."

The doctor frowned again. "Hmm. Okay. A nurse will be in to draw some blood. I don't want to give him anything for the fever until we know what's going on, but it is pretty high, so we'll get him a cooling blanket to bring it down some. Sit tight."

They thanked the doctor, and he left the room.

"Well, it's good that it's not an allergic reaction," Elizabeth said.

For some reason, the words sounded far away. Sara tried to nod, to tell Elizabeth that her voice sounded funny, but the room was suddenly spinning too much to do either. Her vision started to tunnel, and then there were hands on her arms, easing her down into a chair and pushing her head forward between her knees.

"Take it easy," a voice said, still echo-y but not as bad as before. "Just breathe."

She did, and started to feel better. When she sat up slowly, Peter was crouched in front of her.

"Back with me?" he asked.

She nodded, and her eyes went to Neal. He'd slept through whatever that was, completely unaware. Thank goodness.

"Hey," Peter said, drawing her attention back to him. "I know you're worried about him, but right now I'm worried about you. Have you eaten anything today?"

She thought back. She'd made breakfast for Neal, but not for herself. And "lunch" at work had been five e-mails, two phone calls, and a cold cup of coffee. "No."

"I didn't think so."

Elizabeth returned to the room, and it was only then that Sara noticed she'd been gone. "Here." She opened a bottle of apple juice and handed it over.

"Thank you." Sara took it with shaking hands and took a sip. After a few more drinks, she started feeling somewhat closer to normal.

"Your color's coming back," Elizabeth said.

She nodded. "I feel better. Thank you."

"So we don't need to track down another bed for you?" Peter asked.

Sara shook her head and drained the rest of the bottle. "I'm okay."

Peter patted her knees and stood. "You need to eat something. Otherwise your blood sugar's going to crash again. You should drink some water, too."

"I'll walk to the cafeteria with you," Elizabeth offered.

Sara looked over at Neal. It had been a long time since she'd felt this strongly about someone. Since she cared so much more about someone else and so little about herself. Since watching him fall apart made her feel like she was falling apart, too. Damn Caffrey. She wiped at a tear that slipped from the corner of her eye and forced a smile to Elizabeth. "Okay. Thanks."

Peter helped her up and made sure she was steady on her feet before letting go. "I'll take care of Neal," Peter promised while Elizabeth looped her arm through Sara's like they were old friends.

Being in a relationship with Neal was more than that, she realized. He was magnetic. He was a north pole and everyone else was south, attracted to him in one way or another. So being in a relationship with Neal was also being in a relationship with June and Peter and Elizabeth and Mozzie. Even just as friends. Just as people who care.

As she walked down the hall with Elizabeth's constant, soothing chatter, Sara wouldn't change a thing.

###

"Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever," the doctor said later that evening.

"What in the world is that?" Sara asked.

"It's an illness caused by a tick bite."

Peter laughed. "Neal's not exactly an 'outdoorsy' kind of guy. The closest he's been to nature in the past month is Central Park, and maybe not even that."

"Hey," Neal protested softly from the bed. His eyes were closed, but clearly he was more with it now that the Benadryl was wearing off and the cooling blanket had brought down his fever a degree or two.

Sara squeezed his hand. "Sorry, but you know it's true."

"Most people with the illness don't remember a tick bite. It's not definite without a biopsy of the rash, but all of his symptoms, the rash, and his labs point to an accurate diagnosis. Fairly rare in New York, especially in the city, but it does happen."

"So how do you treat it?" Elizabeth asked.

"I'd like to start him on IV Doxycycline immediately. We'll admit him and keep an eye on his blood work. We should see some improvement soon."

"Want to go home," Neal mumbled, opening his eyes.

"You'll do as you're told," Peter said.

Sara smiled and rubbed Neal's arm and let Peter be the bad guy.

"You're going to be just fine, Mr. Caffrey," the doctor said. "Someone will be here to start the antibiotics and take you upstairs shortly. We'll get you some medication for the fever and aches now, too."

"Only you could get a tick bite in the middle of Manhattan, Caffrey," Peter said once the doctor was gone.

Neal grunted. "That case. Last week. Went into Jersey."

"Oh yeah," Peter said. "It was such a short trip, I forgot about that. There were some trees involved there, weren't there?"

"And ticks," Neal said.

"Apparently one too many ticks."

It wasn't long before they brought Neal's medication and took him upstairs to a private room.

"How's your headache?" Sara asked once he was settled.

"Better," he said, voice thick and eyes heavy with whatever pain medication they'd given him.

"On that positive note," Peter said, "why don't you two head home for the night?"

"Oh, no," Sara said. "I'm going to stay here. I need—"

Peter held up a hand to stop her. "A good night's rest in your own bed is what you need."

"You can all go home," Neal said. "I'll be fine."

"Oh, and leave you off-anklet and unattended? I don't think so."

The smirk on Neal's face made Sara think Neal really was doing okay. "Are you sure?" she asked Peter.

"Positive. I have to stay with him anyway. You should go get some sleep."

"We'll let you two say goodnight," Elizabeth said. She gave Neal a hug. "Feel better soon sweetie, okay?"

He nodded. "Thank you. For everything."

"You're welcome. For everything." She winked at Sara and led Peter out into the hall.

"I guess they're kicking me out," Sara said.

"Peter's right. You should sleep. I'll be fine. They're taking good care of me, and he's going to be right here."

Sara bit her lip. "You'll call me if you need anything?"

"Of course."

She pressed the back of her hand to his forehead and cheeks. It was hard to tell if he was running a fever anymore or not, which was nice.

He trapped her hand in his. "Do you know something good?"

It was hard to think of much good coming out of this. "What?"

"It's not the flu, which means I'm not contagious."

A smile spread across Sara's face. "So if you're not contagious, I can do this." She leaned in and kissed him, without worrying about anything. When she pulled back, he was smiling, too. "I'll see you in the morning. Goodnight."

"Love you."

She let herself kiss him one more time.

Out in the hall, Peter gave her a hug. "Take care of yourself. Sleep well. I've got Neal tonight."

"If he needs anything or gets worse—"

"He won't," Elizabeth said, squeezing Sara's shoulder. "He's in good hands." She kissed her husband. "Love you, hon."

"You and Satchmo will be okay without me, right?"

"We'll be just fine. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

As Elizabeth and Sara walked to the elevator, Elizabeth asked, "So, wine or ice cream?"

"What?" Sara asked.

Elizabeth pressed the down button. "It's been a long day. A long week for you. Let's stop on the way home. Wine or ice cream? Your choice. And we don't tell the boys."

Sara couldn't help but smile. She checked the clock on her phone. "Can we do both?"

The elevator doors slid open. "Why, Sara Ellis, I think that's the most brilliant idea you've ever had."

###

Thankfully, the antibiotics started working fairly quickly, and Neal's blood work started to improve. It took a little longer for him to start feeling better, but the doctors assured them that was normal and would come with time. He only had to spend two nights in the hospital before he was released on oral antibiotics.

He recuperated at home with Sara over the weekend. Though he might have been well enough for some desk work at the office on Monday, Peter gave him one more day off, and Sara took one more personal day as well. A luxury rather than a necessity.

"Okay, it turns out being less sick makes the plot of this show even more terrible," Neal said about Sara's choice.

They were on the couch in front of the television. She was laying with her back pressed to his chest, one of his arms wrapped comfortably around her stomach. She lazily ran her fingers up and down his arm. "Shh," she said. "You don't need plot when you have doctors that look like that."

He brushed her hair back and kissed her neck. "I'd rather be looking at you."

The combination of his breath on her neck and the words themselves sent a good shiver up her spine. She tipped her chin up toward his. "Good choice," she said, and then kissed him.

He shifted her slightly, the new angle allowing him to take things a little deeper. "Do you know what?"

"What?"

"I think I want to take a shower."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. There were a few things that were promised and not delivered."

Sara smiled. "There were. You're sure you're feeling okay?"

"I feel great."

She pushed herself up and turned to face him. She kissed him hard. "I think you're about to feel even better."


End file.
